A new Enemy
by Blue-eyesThropp
Summary: It's been three years since the Fall, and much has changed since then. One thing that has not, however, is John Watson's longing for a last miracle, and the fact that there will always be someone out to GET SHERLOCK. Rated T for now due to some very English swear-words and implied romance.
1. John Watson

**Author's Note: Right, this is the first chapter of an, as of yet, long but unfinished story. Although 37 chapter have been written so far, only ten have been properly edited, so uploading could be slow. Plus, I have a lot on my plate at the moment (always) so I'm not writing an awful lot. Still, I was very eager to upload this for various reasons. I wrote this together with two friends; after ceasing the writing relationship with the first, I continued and tweaked the story with a second close friend. Anyway, long story short, I'm really excited to finally upload this! This is my first long fanfiction in a while, and my fist long Sherlock fanfiction, so I'm also a little nervous! Called A New Eemy for now, the title is likely to change and a prologue likely to be added.  
I hope you enjoy this, and can find some time to favourite or review if you did. I embrace tips and compliments equally!  
Kisses,  
Blue-eyes**

**Summary: ****It's been three years since _the Fall_, and much has changed since then. One thing that has not, however, is John Watson's longing for a last miracle, and the fact that there will always be someone out to _GET SHERLOCK._**_  
_

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss get all the credit. All I own are a rickety laptop that's slow at the best of times, and my words. And many thanks to my wonderful two friends, without whom this story never would have existed! I love you both!**

1) John Watson

"I'm sorry... I really am, it's just..." he thrust his head into his hands and groaned.

"John," the psychologist laid a comforting hand on his knee. Instinctively, he flinched. She had touched the spot of his injury- where he believed it to be. However, she took little notice.

"It's been three years. You've been through, what, five psychologists? You've even gone back to your cane," unlike the other therapists, she said this without even the faintest trace of impatience, but with sympathy and feeling, "And you haven't said a word about him. John, I know it's hard, but I think it would really benefit you to talk about it. "

Yes, three years. Three long years of endless pain and grief. Of silence when he returned home from working at the hospital, silence during those long hours he and Mrs. Hudson had just sat there in the living room, longing for someone to shoot at the wall or shout or tap their feet or anything… anything. Three years during which the ex-army doctor had returned to his limp and crutch; his safety net. Three years during which nothing had happened. Three years during which his name had been pronounced not once.

Silence engulfed the psychologist's office for several seconds. In his heart of hearts, John Watson knew that he would free himself from a massive burden just by talking about it. And yet, something inside him seemed to function like a dam to his words, would not let them come out.

He inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again.

"My friend…" John gulped, knowing nothing could both as terrible and as freeing as what he was about to say,

"Sher… Sher… Sherlock H-Holmes," he took one pained breath, "killed himself three years ago and I don't know what to do without him."

The words of the last sentence all merged into one between the sounds of his sobs.


	2. Copmany

**Author's Note: So, here's chapter two. Going good so far. However, be warned, further uploads will not follow this quickly. Read, hopefully enjoy, and review! **  
**Regards, **  
**Blue-eyes**

2) Company

„Well, that was a good session today. Thank you, John, for being so brave. I think we've reached a crucial stage in our development."

Dr. Monica shook his hand affectionately and rose from her chair to get the door for him.

"Thanks, I'm alright." By the way his footsteps echoed in the hall, she would have sworn that his limp seemed to be getting better with every step.

As he made his way along the vast corridors of St. Bart's Hospital, trying to banish the residue of tears from his eyes, John Watson was overcome by a sudden wave of hunger. He knew from his days as a doctor that this was his body reacting to the stress he had put himself through. Luckily, the cafeteria was but several doors away from his therapists office.

He ordered a Cheddar cheese and Ploughman's sandwich from the plump waitress. Observing the other occupants of the room, he noticed many familiar faces amongst the anonymous doctors he had seen but never talked to: the pathologist Molly Hooper was sat at a table near him, scribbling in a notebook with a fluffy pink pen. That poor soul. She had been single for three whole years, ever since Sherlock's suicide. He noticed his old psychologist, the tough Ella, whose surname he never had found out and contemplating seating himself near her until her noticed a further known face at the far end of the cafeteria. Dr. Rebecca Simmons was a general practitioner and had started working at St. Bart's only a couple of years ago. John surely found her to be quite beautiful, what with her copper-brown hair and enigmatic aura, and the two of them had engaged in friendly conversation several times before, though never initiated by him. With a definite co_me here _wave of Rebecca's hand it was decided, and John made his way through tables and chairs, with much difficulty, to join her.

"John!" Rebecca exclaimed brightly, "It's good to see you."

"Likewise," he responded, clearing his throat awkwardly. The way she gazed at him attentively when he spoke, her dark eyes staring into his hypnotisingly never failed to make him nervous.

"So, how's it going? How was your session?"

"Not too bad. Doctor Monica definitely lives up to her good reputation."

Rebecca tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

"You certainly look better."

"Do you mean to say I looked bad before?" John laughed, raising his eyebrows at her jokingly.

"That's not what I meant. You look great either way." There was a moment of silence, during which both of them faced away from each other,

"So... what do you rec? Weather going to pick up today?"

Rebecca's eyes fixed on the ground, while John seemed to have developed a sudden interest for the table.

"Hopefully," she smiled, looking back at John, "Got anything planned for today? I mean, if the weather does pick up?"

"Sit at home and watch Emmerdale." there was the faintest hint of a smile on John's lips- a pitiful, wan smile, forced and rather rusty, but a smile nevertheless,"How about you? "

I thought I might treat myself to a night out, go to fancy restaurant or something." She paused, as if contemplating whether or not to say what was on her mind.

"You know, if you have nothing else planned, you could join me."

As though he had, in the last three years, forgotten how to reply to such an offer, John stayed silent for a few seconds, his mouth incredibly dry, speechless.

"It was just an idea, you really don't have to if you'd rather..."

"No, no, that sounds splendid! I'd... I'd love to. What do you say, should I pick you up around eight?"

Grinning widely, she replied, "Sounds great to me!"


End file.
